


But She Looked So Sad

by I_am_lampy



Series: After All These Years [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Domestic Fluff, Frustrated John Watson, M/M, Post-Episode: s04e03 The Final Problem, Sweet Sherlock, interrupted smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-31
Updated: 2017-03-31
Packaged: 2018-10-13 08:17:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10509894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_am_lampy/pseuds/I_am_lampy
Summary: John and Sherlock try to talk about sex. John explains the evolution of his feelings from platonic to romantic for Sherlock who has a heartbreakingly sweet confession of his own. Smut ensues but is interrupted by a toddler. Twice.





	

On Sunday, nine days after John and Sherlock had confessed their love for each other, John and Rosie were permanently moved into 221B Baker Street. That night would be their first night as a family in their home together and John knew that Rosie would require a few weeks to adjust so he didn't place too much hope on him and Sherlock making much headway on their physical relationship and he was okay with that as there were many things they still needed to discuss. Sherlock told John he was being pessimistic about Rosie taking a long time to adjust, that Rosie was a smart and capable child and not prone to being clingy. John wisely kept his mouth shut.

That night they installed the baby gates in the doorway of Rosie's room and at the bottom of the back stairs that led up to John and Sherlock's new bedroom. They put a baby monitor in Rosie's room and the paired monitor in their bedroom. When it was half past seven, John bathed Rosie, got her ready for bed and then she got into her new toddler bed that she had picked out with Sherlock, John read _Goodnight Moon_ and _The Going to Bed Book_ and then kissed her goodnight.

He had to get Sherlock to come unlatch the baby gate because he could not, for some reason, ever get it to work, which bode well for Rosie also not getting it to work and that was the point.

But when Rosie saw Sherlock she said, "She'lock! Wead me moo bah lalala and kiss me," a sentence which John had to translate.

"She wants you to read her the book _Moo Baa La La La_ ," John said when Sherlock had released him from the cage that was Rosie's room.

"Right," Sherlock said, frowning. "Very well."

John pointed out the book and Sherlock stepped over the baby gate _damn him and his ridiculously tall body_ John thought and John went into the living room to wait for Sherlock to be done. It was going on eight thirty and they had agreed they would talk about things (by which they meant sex) after Rosie went to bed.

Fifteen minutes later, Sherlock came out and sat down on the couch next to John and proceeded to propose to John a plan whereby they would gradually increase their sexual exploration until they were having actual sex.

"Sherlock," John said, stopping him halfway through. "You're doing that thing again where you're making all the decisions without asking for my input."

"But it's a good decision."

"No, it's a _schedule_. We can't get to know each other like this according to a _schedule_! This kind of thing happens in a more organic way. One thing flows out of the other."

Sherlock looked at him dubiously. "Well, what's your idea, then?"

"Right now?"

"Right now, tomorrow, next week, the rest of our lives, yes. What's your idea?"

"My idea for right now is to kiss you."

"And then?"

John put his head in his hands and groaned in frustration.

"It just has to _happen_. You can't force it to happen and you can't plan beyond the moment except in more general terms like _I want to have sex with you_."

"I want to have sex with you," Sherlock said, smiling in a kind of scary way.

"Well, I want to have sex with you, too. So now that we know what we want from each other, then we discuss how to go about it."

John felt like he was gaining some measure of control over their physical relationship. Sherlock had proven to be a very aggressive and reckless lover, which was sexy and always managed to override any objections John had, but was not a sustainable way of continuing their physical relationship. John needed to slow it down and in order to do that, he needed to set down some ground rules for Sherlock. After all, it had only been a week and two days since that first very eventful night when John had finally confessed to being in love with Sherlock.

"Let's start with your definition of sex. When you say you want to have sex with me, what do you mean?" John asked.

"I mean I want to have anal sex with you," Sherlock said in that completely matter-of-fact unselfconscious way he had of saying things that made other people wince or get pissed off or turn bright red, which was what John was doing at that moment.

"Okay," John said, feeling himself both terrified and aroused at the idea.

"You are so delightful when you blush like that," Sherlock said, his voice even lower than normal and slightly rough with desire. He reached out for John but John stopped him.

"Lock it up, Sherlock, because right now we're talking."

"Fine. Let's talk," Sherlock said and then moved to the other end of the couch and did the thing with his hands that drove John crazy and Sherlock knew it drove John crazy which was why he was doing it. John kept his composure.

"One of the things I need you to understand is that until two years ago I had never been attracted to a man. Ever. I'm sure someone would argue that I was just repressing my homosexual desires because of societal pressure or some other psychobabble like that but the truth is I wasn't interested.

"My feelings for you were really deep and complicated but they weren't sexual. The last time Mary ran, I realized I was ready for her to go and never come back. I was done with her. I was tired. You wanted us to stay together more than we wanted us to stay together and you worked so hard at it. I realized finally that you were doing it, not just because you made a vow, but because of _me_. You _wanted_ me to be happy and you were willing to do whatever it took to make that happen. I realized how much you loved me. You loved me more than anyone else loved me. I was the center of your universe."

Sherlock scoffed. "That's a bit arrogant, especially considering that _I'm_ the center of my universe."

"Do you deny it?" John asked, raising his eyebrows.

Sherlock scoffed again and slumped back against his side of the couch but didn't deign to answer which was answer enough.

"And then Mary died and we both know how poorly I dealt with the realization that you were the center of _my_ universe, which is to say I hated myself and I used your guilt about her death against you. My feelings still weren't sexual in nature, although it was heading that way inevitably.

"It wasn't until Sherrinford, until the coffin that said _I love you_ ; you said it was for someone smaller than Irene Adler and that they would be _single, unmarried, practical about death_ when you were trying to figure it out and for some bizarre reason I couldn't understand, I thought it was going to be me and when it turned out to be Molly and you called her and you told her you loved her, I was jealous.

"I was stood there in that horrible place where you were fighting for the lives of our friends and strangers alike, where you were once again not just Sherlock Holmes the detective but Sherlock Holmes the superhero, Sherlock Holmes, the man who carries the weight of everyone's lives on his shoulders. You were trying to save Molly and I was bloody fucking _jealous_.

"That's when I knew I didn't just love you; I was in love with you and I wanted everything that came with that, including sexual intimacy.

"But you were married to The Work. There was nothing that had changed about that. Just because I was the center of your universe didn't mean you wanted to have sex with me."

"I do now," Sherlock said pointedly.

"Stop interrupting me, please," John said, glaring at Sherlock who glared back.

"But this is taking forever!" Sherlock complained.

"The more you interrupt me, the longer this is going to take," John said and Sherlock slumped back against his corner of the couch again, looking positively mutinous.

"Friday night when I told you I had made my peace with the fact that you couldn't return my feelings, it was because I had assumed your opinions on sexual or romantic entanglements hadn't changed at all and I spent two years making my peace with that. During those two years, anytime my thoughts wondered towards physical intimacy with you, which was often because you have a habit of not respecting people's personal space, I immediately thought of something completely disgusting to put myself off of it. I wasn't going to let myself get aroused, knowing you weren't available. The thought of being with anyone else was out of the question, whether man or woman. I understand better now the fluidity of sexual identification but it was too late for me. It was you or nobody. I had resigned myself to a life of celibacy.

"Finding out that you returned my feelings and then that fantastic blowjob you gave me was completely overwhelming. I was also a little intimidated by the fact that you told me I was _little_ – "

"You _are_ little," Sherlock said, his face suddenly transformed from glowering to tender and delighted.

"It's only been nine days," John said, ignoring him, "and in those nine days I've been so preoccupied with moving whilst still trying to do my three shifts a week at the surgery plus the usual running around after you and then all the impromptu snogging sessions – I haven't had a chance to think about where we go from here."

"It's pretty simple, John," Sherlock said in that voice that meant _you're being an idiot again_.

"I understand the basic mechanics, Sherlock, but there's so much to it! All we've done after that first night is kiss!"

"There was quite a bit of touching involved, if I recall," Sherlock pointed out.

"Groping, more like."

"What is your point, John?" Sherlock sighed.

"The other day, I was looking online to try to get an idea of how our relationship would or should progress. Essentially, what comes next. What I discovered, is that it's not as simple as you think."

Sherlock frowned.

"Wait there," John said and then got his laptop and sat down in the middle of the couch and then motioned Sherlock to sit next to him. Then John brought up the browser and opened up [the website he had found](http://www.gaypopbuzz.com/anal-sex-first-time-ultimate-guide/) that had completely opened his eyes to the embarrassing facts surrounding an intimate relationship with another man.

"Oh," Sherlock said, sounding surprised. And then, "Oh," sounding slightly disgusted. And then, "Oh, my God," sounding completely horrified.

"See?" John said, feeling smug at having for once been ahead of Sherlock Holmes.

"I thought – "

"Me, too," John said and patted Sherlock on the knee.

"So, does this mean that you want me to be on bottom?" Sherlock asked hesitantly.

"No," John said, rolling his eyes. "It means I want to talk about this. And not just about this, not just about who's on bottom and who's on top but the power differential in our relationship. You're sort of bulldozing over me and when you call me _little_ , that's how I feel. I feel like something _you_ do rather than someone you do things _with_. Does that make sense?"

"I knew it was wrong that I liked that you were little," Sherlock said, looking abashed.

"It's not _wrong_ , Sherlock," John said. "It's just that – "

"When I look at you," Sherlock began and then looked away as though he couldn't look at John and think about him at the same time. "I've always respected you and I've always admired you and I've always felt a physical attraction to you, but it wasn't sexual. Everyone thinks that The Wom – that Irene Adler and I had something going on in private but we didn't. I didn't particularly like her. She was aggressive and off putting and I had no interest in sex. But I saw in her – I saw in her behavior a kinship. She reacted to me the way that I react to you. Although, of course, much more blatantly on her part."

He said all this haltingly as though he had never let himself really think about it or put it into words and now that he was putting it into words, it was a lot more complicated than he had expected.

"It was never sexual, John. My feelings for you. _Now_ it is, obviously, and, like you, it began at Sherrinford. It was just that I always wanted to be _near_ you and when I was near you I wanted to be even closer. I wanted to touch you all the time, lay a hand on your shoulder or – I don't know. That's the thing, you see? I don't know. There's no frame of reference here for me. You at least can compare it to your former relationships, even though they were all women, but I have nothing to compare it to except my relationship to you!

"I don't like people to touch me. I've never been able to shake that."

He still refused to look at John and he was disappearing in on himself in a way that John recognized from ten years of friendship and he wanted to reach out to Sherlock and help him with this confession that seemed to be dragging far more out of him than he wanted it to. John wanted to comfort Sherlock but Sherlock wasn't one to accept comfort, especially when he wanted to get something out.

"I'm human, although I know it doesn't seem like it to most people, and going for years and years without physical touch it was – I recognized that it wasn't healthy what I was doing to myself but I didn't know what else to do. Every time I was near you, though, it was like my body just leaned towards yours. If you were in the room, I wanted to be next to you. If you were next to me, I wanted to lean closer.

"I wanted to touch you all the time, not sexually. I wanted to touch your face or your hand or lay a hand on your shoulder or lean my forehead against yours or hug you, even. We never hugged, did you know that John? Not until Mary – not until after Mary died –

"When you came here, after Mary's death - do you remember? - when you came to apologize and you cried and I hugged you?"

John nodded his head, keeping his eyes on Sherlock and his hands folded in his lap.

"You fit against me – "

He drew in a deep breath and John saw tears glittering in his eyes and wished that he had never, ever brought any of this up, that he had just let Sherlock kiss him instead of insisting that they talk about it.

Sherlock rubbed the tears away from his cheeks angrily, determined to continue.

"My arm was around you and my hand was on the back of your neck, and I pressed you against me and your head fit under my chin and I felt like I could fold myself around you, like I could – " His breath hitched so hard that John had to rub both hands down over his mouth to keep from touching Sherlock.

" – like I could hold you inside of me, fit you inside of me, and then nobody would ever hurt you again.

"That, John," Sherlock said, finally turning to look at him. "Is why I like that you're little."

John covered his face with his hands, so overcome that he knew he wouldn't be able to finish this conversation if he didn't get himself under control now.

"As for the rest of it, the sex part – that's not the best part of our relationship and I know that I'm overwhelming. I know that it makes you – that it frightens you a little – "

"It doesn't frighten me, Sherlock."

"I know that you don't like the way I charge ahead without consulting you but I've _always_ charged ahead without consulting you. I don't know how to do this part of our relationship different than all the rest."

Sherlock rubbed his hands roughly over his face and then furiously ploughed them through his hair.

"The things we did last Friday night and the things we've done since then, the kissing and the groping, as you put it – it feels like I've uncapped this…this – I don't even know what to call it! It's like I dug down and down and down until I hit water or oil and now it's just fountaining up out of me and I can't seem to turn it off or even slow it down! It's frustrating for me because I feel like I want to _consume_ you, like there's never going to be enough touching you and kissing you and all the other things, to satisfy me. The more favorably you respond to my physical advances, the more I want of you."

He looked at John and gave a small, uncertain smile. "There's so much going on in my head and in my body and then there you are _all the time_ looking like you do with your – all stoic and dependable and unshakable and  – _buttoned up_ and I get overwhelmed with this need to take it all off and lay you down absolutely naked and vulnerable like I did Friday night and watch you fall apart. I don't even know if that's normal! Is it normal? It feels like it shouldn't be normal."

He came to a sudden halt and then collapsed against the couch looking suddenly very tired and very young. He leaned his head back against the couch and closed his eyes.

"Sherlock?" John said after a minute.

"Hm?" Sherlock asked.

"Are you tired? We can go up to bed, if you want and talk about this tomorrow," John said.

Sherlock made an affirmative noise and then opened his eyes and stood up. They walked through the sitting room to the kitchen and through the kitchen to the back stairs and then walked single file up the stairs to the upstairs bedroom.

Sherlock was in a t-shirt and pajama bottoms and dropped his dressing gown on the floor and got into the far side of the bed, facing the wall. John was in traditional pajamas with the (buttoned up) matching shirt and on a whim he took it off before getting into bed. He moved until he was completely up against Sherlock and then he slid his hands under the hem of Sherlock's t-shirt; at first Sherlock started and then he relaxed into the touch as John circled Sherlock's waist with his arm.

"We haven't done anything even remotely like what we did that first night together. You got to make me come and I want to return the favor so I would like to try just one thing tonight. I'm just going to use my hands but I want you to take all of your clothes off. Is that okay?"

Sherlock nodded and quickly shed his pajamas. The only light came through the window but it was enough to illuminate the pale glow of Sherlock's naked skin in the dark room.

He had wanted this for the past week, wanted to be in charge of Sherlock instead of the other way around but he was careful not to rush. Sherlock said that he was taking charge of their sexual relationship because he had always led and John had always followed but John knew that half of it was fear. Sherlock was afraid of losing control. Even when he was using, he was still in control in a way no junkie John had ever encountered could have.

So John started off gently, tracing his fingers along Sherlock's arm, planting soft, dry kisses in the wake of his hands. Then he moved to using his entire palm, skimming it over the surface of Sherlock's chest where there was just the tiniest smattering of pale hair. He circled one fingertip around one of Sherlock's nipples and Sherlock gasped and shivered and John grinned into Sherlock's shoulder, trying not to be smug and failing miserably at it. No wonder Sherlock always wanted to be the one touching John because this was heady stuff. It was a powerful feeling knowing he made the great Sherlock Holmes quiver with just the touch of one fingertip.

He circled the other nipple, earning another delightful tremble. He slid his palm over Sherlock's stomach and back towards himself, splaying his hand on the side of Sherlock's waist before sliding it down to his hip where he dug his fingers into the skin over Sherlock's hip bone, eliciting another gasp that caused John to have to pull his hips away from Sherlock so that his erection wasn't pressing into the small of Sherlock's back.

He let his palm trail down the outside of Sherlock's thigh until he could reach no further and then he slipped it between Sherlock's legs. Initially Sherlock tensed up so John stopped moving his hand and just waited. When Sherlock relaxed he slid it up a little further, stopping every time he thought Sherlock was beginning to get nervous and eventually Sherlock's body relaxed at which point John told Sherlock to turn over onto his side facing John.

He kissed Sherlock, keeping it as chaste as possible considering that he was himself fired up with hunger but this was about Sherlock, he reminded himself, not about him. He slid his hand further up the inside of Sherlock's thigh until his knuckles brushed gently against Sherlock's testicles at which point Sherlock seemed to explode into a frenzy of kissing and pushing his hips towards John, knitting his fingers into John's hair trying to collide with John.

And that was when Rosie woke up crying.

"Ignore her," John murmured against Sherlock's lips.

"She sounds really scared," Sherlock said plaintively.

John wrapped his hand around Sherlock's cock, which caused Sherlock to tighten his grip on John's shoulder hard enough that he knew there would be bruises the next day. It also momentarily silenced his protests and he gasped into John's mouth as John stroked him slowly, holding him loosely, not wanting to cause any chafing with his dry hands but knowing if he stopped to pull out lubricant or even just rub some lotion on his hands that Rosie would distract Sherlock.

Sherlock thrust himself into John's hand, which made John's whole body light up but then Rosie said _She'lock?_ very sadly and sweetly over the baby monitor and Sherlock was out of the bed like a shot, pulling on his pajama bottoms and racing down the stairs.

John groaned but took the opportunity that Sherlock's absence provided to rub lotion into his hands. They were always dry and chapped because he washed them constantly at the surgery. He had decades of experience with masturbating but he was fairly certain Sherlock hadn't even indulged in that and even though penises didn't get calluses, John couldn't help but feeling that the skin of Sherlock's penis was probably very sensitive. He could've been wrong but he wasn't going to take the chance of turning Sherlock off of being touched. John wanted to at least make sure his hands were as soft as he could get them and that he had a bottle of lubricant close at hand.

He could hear Sherlock talking to Rosie through the baby monitor and he grinned to himself listening. He didn't think Sherlock remembered that John could hear him because he called Rosie _darling_ and _my sweet girl_ and _I love you, too_ , which made John's lower lip wobble. Sherlock had always been sweet to Rosie, but he still maintained his brusque persona around her. _This_ Sherlock, the one who was downstairs with Rosie right now, showering her with endearments, was a Sherlock he had never before seen and he thought it likely that nobody but Rosie would ever see that side of Sherlock.

John was dozing off when he heard the strains of a lullaby coming from Sherlock's violin. The sound filled the entire flat and echoed through the baby monitor, turning it into a tinny, unbeautiful sound so John turned the volume down on the baby monitor so he could listen to Sherlock's playing.

The next thing he knew, Sherlock was sliding into bed next to him, his hand cold and shocking on John's naked skin and he realized that Sherlock was about to pull of John's pajama bottoms and would take over again if John didn't stop him.

"My turn," John said.

"Well, can't you be naked, too?" Sherlock asked.

"Okay. But don't try to take over," John said.

"Don't worry. I don't even like you," Sherlock grumbled.

They divested themselves of their pajama bottoms and then John began his slow caressing of Sherlock's skin all over again. His skin was gloriously smooth except for the scars which John had the irrational urge to lick.

He took Sherlock's cock in hand even though Sherlock wasn't even erect but he wanted an obvious way to judge Sherlock's arousal while he tried different things. One of the things he tried was to give in to the urge to lick Sherlock's scars. It had such a strong effect on Sherlock that John decided to keep using his tongue. He circled it around a nipple, which he then nipped lightly the way he had many times with many women. Sherlock responded beautifully, his cock stiffening in John's hand and his fingers knitting themselves in John's hair. Sherlock said his name like it was a prayer or a poem or a declaration of love and John bent down from Sherlock's side and licked his lips and was about to slide his lips over the head of Sherlock's cock - 

And then Sherlock pushed John aside and sat up stiffly.

"What is it – "

"Sh!" He listened for a minute before he turned his head towards John and said, accusingly, "Did you turn the baby monitor off?"

"No!" John protested and then remembered the violin music. "Oh, yeah, I did. When you were playing. It sounded terrible coming from the – " He stopped because Sherlock was no longer listening as he was on his way downstairs.

John groaned and let his head drop back onto his pillow.

He had dozed off again when he felt Sherlock poke him in the shoulder.

"Huh?" he asked, rubbing his eyes.

"Put your pants on," Sherlock hissed.

"What?" John said but Sherlock shushed him furiously. That was when John saw the sleeping toddler curled up in one of Sherlock's arms, her face pressed into Sherlock's neck.

"Put your pants on," Sherlock whispered again and tossed them at John who reluctantly but obediently put them on.

"Scoot over," Sherlock said.

John saw where this was going and he said, "No, Sherlock, you are not – "

Sherlock clambered _over_ John to the other side of the bed where he gently laid Rosie down next to him, wrapped a protective arm around her, sniffed her head once, and then closed his eyes.  

"Don't get her into the habit of doing that, Sherlock, or she'll never sleep on her own," John said quietly.

"I won't," Sherlock murmured. "It's just for one night."

"It won't be just for one night."

"I know," Sherlock whispered. "I'm sorry. I was very eager to continue our – conversation thing where – the touching." Sherlock stopped and took a deep breath before blowing it out. "You were about to either give me a hand job or a blow job – "

"I was leaning towards the latter," John confessed which made Sherlock make a noise halfway between a groan and a whine.

"I really wanted that – I still want that, but she just looked so sad, John. She was clutching the baby gate and staring up at me with her tear streaked face. Her eyes were so wide and her lip was sticking out and she's so tiny and helpless and – "

"Yeah, I know," John said. He hadn't known it was possible to love Sherlock anymore but he had been wrong.

"Maybe she'll do better tomorrow night," Sherlock said but John could hear the doubt in his voice.

"She'll adjust eventually," John said, "but I suggest you get used to more furtive kissing and groping in the meantime."

The three of them slept and the next morning Sherlock was amazed to discover that he slept really well with Rosie curled up next to him considering she snored, took up most of the bed by throwing her arms and legs as wide as possible and kicked him in the gut twice and the balls once.

He thought that it was more likely that he slept better knowing the two people he loved the most in the world were within his reach.

Their sex life, though, was really going to take a hit.

**Author's Note:**

> (Thanks, Pamina!)
> 
> I always welcome emails from readers!
> 
> archiveofMYown@gmail.com


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